


Sam's 31st Birthday

by innerglow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Fluffy, Happy Birthday, M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Schmoop, domestic!Dean, hbdsammy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-03
Updated: 2014-05-03
Packaged: 2018-01-21 17:28:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1558325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/innerglow/pseuds/innerglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean sends Sam off on a little hunt, while he stays behind and prepares a birthday surprise for Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sam's 31st Birthday

**Author's Note:**

> Quickly beta'd by the lovely: [Char](http://yourbrotpismyotp.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Thank you!  
> All additional errors are simply my own.  
> Artwork gifted by: [Paola](http://possessivejensen.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.  
> Thank you so much for your beautiful work!  
> Art post: [here](http://possessivejensen.tumblr.com/post/84579621939/happy-birthday-sammy-3-art-collaboration)

 

Dean wakes Sam up at the crack of dawn and shoves a newspaper under his nose.  

“I found a hunt,” he says flatly.  “I need you to go check it out.”

Sam rolls over and grunts, the desire to relinquish back into sleep is far greater than any pressing need to ‘save the world’.  There’s a few seconds where his eyelids are convinced he’s escaped his Brother’s words; it’s almost as if they sigh with the relief of it.

“I’m serious, Sam.”

A heavy sigh rolls out between Sam’s teeth as he props himself up on his elbows, squinting at the shadowed figure of his Brother.  He wants to be mad, but knows it will serve him little to no good to even attempt it. Rubbing his eyes, he flings his legs over the side of his bed.  With his back facing Dean, he stretches and manages to work out a regretful yawn, before standing to look at his Brother.

“This better be good,” his voice thick with sleep still.  The tone of his voice warns far more than he means it to, but it’s too early for apologies.  “I’m gonna get some coffee, you can fill me in.”

He steps around Dean, who is still holding the folded up newspaper, and heads for the kitchen.  Dean follows him like a shadow.  Words between them are rare and spoken only when absolutely needed.  It's been like this for months; at first it was excruciatingly uncomfortable, but now they've adjusted into an uneasy routine.

As Sam sips his coffee, allowing the aroma to pull him to the surface of ‘functioning’, it appears today is no different.  Dean fills him in on the case: a man who died in his sleep on Monday, inexplicably awakens three days later. They both agree that it’s worth looking at and it’s not until Sam is making a move for his backpack, that he notices that Dean hasn’t moved an inch.

“You coming?”

“Nah,” Dean says, waving his hand behind him. “I’ve still got some research to do here.”

Sam feels a flare of irritation bubble in his stomach, but tries to not let it play on his face.  Dean has been doing this a lot lately; finding hunts and sending Sam out alone to scope them out.  It appears he’s taking this ‘work only’ request Sam had made absolutely seriously.  Any hint that he felt brotherly towards him, was especially hidden and the more they acted this way, the more it became hurtfully believable.

Dean blinks a few times, as though he is waiting for Sam to protest.  But Sam has no desire to fight someone who doesn’t even want to fight back.  It’s a losing battle.  So he does the only thing he can.  He grabs the keys and makes his way toward the door, his backpack slung over his shoulder.

“Call me,” Dean says quietly. “If you need help, that is.”

Sam stops with his fingers wrapped tightly around the front door.  He counts to three and then exits, letting the door slam loudly behind him.  He doesn’t hear the whispered, “Be careful, Sammy.”, that escapes Dean’s lips.

~*~*~

Dean stands in the bunker’s kitchen and stares at the back of a boxed cake mix.  This is a dumb idea, he thinks.  He’s very obviously not a baker and the harder he tries to make out the directions on the back, it becomes even clearer that he’s in over his head.

“He couldn’t like pie, now could he?” Dean questions into the air around himself.  Buying a pie would’ve been so much easier.  But cupcakes were Sam’s favorite and well, if Sam has ever deserved them--it would be this year.

“You’re Dean Winchester,” he says out loud.  “You can do this.”

He jumps up and down a few times, shaking his extremities and then picks up the cake mix and makes a conscious decision to make this happen.

It takes him fifteen minutes to find a pan that matches the one on the back of the box.  And by the time he finds it, he raises it above his head triumphantly and shouts, “Hallelujah!”.  He finds everything else he needs and collects it on the counter around him.  He stares at it all and then claps his hands together in a ‘I can do this’ type of motion.  

One and one-third cups of water, one-third cup of oil, and three eggs later, Dean has the bunker’s ancient mixer whirring at the low setting--just as the instructions told him to do.  He watches the mixture come together, the smell of rich chocolate hitting his nose.  And yeah, it’s not pie, but he can admit it smells pretty fucking good.  He can’t even help himself from sticking a finger in the batter, when it’s done mixing. He smiles happily as he licks the chocolate goodness from his forefinger and preheats the oven.  

It takes some coordination, but Dean fills all the cupcake papers in the pan.  And just as he’s finishing, the oven beeps.  Perfect timing.  He sticks the pan in and sets the timer to eighteen minutes.  He prays they turn out; he needs them to.  

Dean checks his phone and thinks if now would be an acceptable time to call and check in with Sam.  It’s been a couple of hours, he’s had to make some leeway.  The hunt was in a town only forty-five minutes away, just far enough to keep Sam busy.  His thumb hovers over the call button for a few seconds, before he lets himself press it.  

A few rings go by, more than Sam usually lets slide and Dean knows that he is mad.  Hell, he would be too.  But he doesn’t let the thought marinate too long in his mind, because the end justifies the means--at least for today.

“Hey,” Sam finally answers. “What’s up?”

“Just thought I would check in,” Dean replies easily.  “You find anything?”

There’s a beat of silence.  The only sounds are of their slow breaths co-mingling through the phone lines. Dean clears his throat purposefully, letting Sam know that he’s still waiting on an answer.

“No,” Sam answers sharply.  “I’m not finding anything supernatural to explain this; could just be a miracle.”

“A miracle?” Dean retorts, his eyes half rolling themselves out of his head.  “Yea,” he laughs. “Okay.”

"I’m gonna check a few other things out and if I don’t find anything, I’m heading back.”

Dean smiles, because his plan is working just as he thought it would.  He hangs up the phone after telling Sam to keep him posted and immediately starts cleaning the kitchen.  He knows he doesn’t have much more time before Sam gives up and head on back.

~*~*~

Dean stands with a knife in one hand and a cupcake in the other.  He looks down at the chocolate frosting he just spread all over the top of the cupcake and feels unsatisfied.  It definitely doesn’t look anything like the cupcakes he’s seen in bakeries.

“I’ve ganked the worst of monsters,” Dean says with irritation. “But I can’t even fucking frost cupcakes properly.”

He sets down the sad looking cupcake and eyes the rainbow assortment of sprinkles he bought.  Maybe that would help? Couldn’t really make it any worse, he decides.  He picks up the pink sprinkles and shakes a handful on top.  

“Now it just looks like pink sprinkled crap,” Dean sighs.  “Crap!” He repeats, with a sigh.  There’s obviously an art to this cupcake making business, and well, he’s not privy to it.  After all, their family motto wasn’t, ‘Making cupcakes. Frosting things. The Family Bakery Business.’  Dean laughs at the thought and shakes his head once more.  

It’s not what they look like, it’s what the taste like.  Or at least that’s what he tells himself as he soldiers through the rest of the cupcakes.

~*~*~

When Sam gets back to the bunker, it’s only 7pm.  But as he enters, he finds it odd that all the lights are off.  He trips over Dean’s boots and curses as he tries to steady himself in the dark.  Sam drops his bag at the door and feels for the railing of the stairs.  

“Dean?” His voice echoes, but there is no answer.  

He makes his way down the stairs, using his cellphone to guide his two left feet.  And it’s not until he’s at the foot of the stairs, that he notices a soft glowing light coming from the direction of the kitchen.  Sam’s not really sure what the fuck is going on, but he reaches for his knife that he hides on the inside of his jacket.  Something is seriously off.

“Dean,” he calls. “Where are you?”

It’s a question he asks, even though he keeps heading stealthily towards the kitchen.  It’s the only sign of life in this entire place.  At the edge of the door, he hesitates a few seconds before sucking in a lungful of air and pressing meaningfully into the kitchen door. He stumbles into the kitchen, his knife raised and a bead of sweat starting to form on his brow.  

“Hey there...”

Dean is standing, dressed impeccably well, next to a fully made dinner on the table.  The candlelight dances across his freckled face and paints him beautifully.  As if he needs the help, Sam thinks quietly.  

“What,” Sam starts, his tongue getting lost in his throat.

“Happy birthday, Sammy!”

Dean smiles as he pulls out a chair for Sam to sit in.  And maybe it’s the completely shocked expression on Sam’s face or his unmoving feet, but Dean’s arm suddenly wraps around him and guides him from the doorway and over into the chair.  Dean takes Sam’s jacket, his palms warm across Sam’s shoulders.  And Sam feels a cave of homesickness awaken in his stomach, because it has been so long since they’ve touched at all.

“I don’t understand.”

Dean cracks open a beer for Sam and places it in front of him.  He takes a swig of his own beer and sits down across from Sam.  He’s nervous.  Hell, they’re both nervous.  And it shows as they both sit quietly across from each other and pick at their burgers and fries.  

“Listen,” Dean breaks the silence. “I know we’ve had a tough year and I know we have a long way until we get back to where we used to be.  This isn’t me ignoring that fact.” He says waving his hands meaningfully around him.  “This is because it’s your birthday and we are going to celebrate it.”

Sam takes a sip of his beer and listens as Dean explains himself.  

“After everything we’ve been through these last few months,” Dean’s voice starts to get distant with thought.  He’s silent for a few moments, as though he’s fishing for the right words or maybe trying to figure out how to articulate the ones already on his tongue. “I wasn’t so sure we’d be celebrating another one, Sammy.”

Sam looks up immediately and makes eye contact with his Brother’s beautifully green clover eyes.  There’s an emotion glistening on the surface of Dean’s eyes and Sam knows instantly how important this is to Dean.  And for the first time in months, he lets the barred fences down just enough, to smile honestly back at Dean.  

Sam doesn’t say anything, he just does the only thing he can think of.  He eats.  And as he swallows his first bite, he can see Dean immediately relax into his own chair. Dean picks up his own burger and they eat with minimal, but comfortable conversation, scattered here and there.

~*~*~

Dean turns around, a pan of cupcakes in tow, and starts singing ‘Happy Birthday’.  

Sam can feel the heat immediately fill his cheeks.  He could blame the beers, but he knows it’s more than that. Dean smiles goofily as he comes to stand before Sam, who still sits at the table.  

“...happy birthday, dear Sammyyyy...happy birthday to youuu!” Dean sings in perfect tune.

Sam looks at the colorfully decorated cupcakes and can’t help but feel his heart swell; it’s very clear that Dean took the time to make these himself. Dean follows Sam’s gaze down to the cupcakes and mirrors a blush of his own.

“They’re,” Sam tries, searching for the right words.

“--sad.” Dean finishes for Sam. He offers a shrug and a half grin.

“No,” Sam shakes his head and places his hands over Dean’s, where he holds the pan. “They’re perfect, thank you.”

“Make a wish, Bitch.” Dean chides, trying to divert their attention away from the emotions in the air.  He smiles when Sam looks up at him and grins at the old expression.  

“Jerk.”

Sam closes his eyes and is still for a few minutes, the heat of his hands making Dean sweat with the longing to feel them on other places of his body. It’s an excruciating moment; it’s so hard to not throw the pan on the floor and just kiss Sam blind.  He licks his lips at the thought and blushes harder when he sees Sam suddenly staring back at him.  Sam, who, leans forward without breaking eye contact and blows seductively, until every candle is but only a wisp of smoke.

Dean places the pan on the table in front of Sam and turns to fetch them both another beer.  

“I hope you made some for yourself,” Sam jokes, placing his elbows on either side of the cupcakes in front of him. “Don’t think I’m sharing.”

Dean places a beer in front of Sam and swoops fastly, retrieving a cupcake before Sam can argue any further.

“Baker’s fee,” Dean says slyly as he sits in the chair next to Sam, closer than the chair he ate dinner in.

Sam swallows hard when he feels Dean’s knee bump into his and tries decipher what he’s looking at.  The warmth of Dean pressing against him, has his brain misfiring; it’s as though the cupcakes are nonexistent in front of him.  He squeezes his eyes shut and reopens them, this time the colored sprinkles coming back into view.  But he still can’t be bothered with his favorite sweet, when Dean is right there, all relaxed and flirty.  

Sam is immediately shocked from his endless daydream when Dean’s finger smears a thin strip of frosting across Sam’s lips.  His tongue is quick to dart out and taste the alien matter on his flesh, so quick, that his tongue grazes across the tip of Dean’s forefinger.  And it is that action that has Dean stumbling back into his chair and finishing off his beer at record speed.

Sam licks the frosting off and he moans at the delicious sweetness of the frosting.  He doesn’t think much of it, until he feels Dean’s gaze burning his lips.  Sam looks over and sees the unbearable longing in Dean’s eyes.  There’s so many questions there, but Sam doesn’t know if he’s capable of saying yes.  Not yet.  

“Sammy,” Dean says softly.  So softly,  it’s almost like he didn’t say anything at all.  “Can I kiss you?” He adds, the question spoken loud enough for Sam to be sure what he’s heard.

Those words hang in the air, just as boldly and insecure as they sound.  Sam looks at those words, clinging to the space between them and argues with himself.  He wants it; no, no, no--he needs it.  He needs it so damn bad, he feels like a fish on dry land with the promise of water just ahead.  And he knows it’s probably the mixture of beer and the small tingle of happiness in his gut that makes him lean closer to a ‘yes’, than a ‘no’.  But he still finds himself hesitating with an answer.

Dean sees the inner argument in Sam’s eyes and curses himself for having pressed too far.  Of course he can’t kiss him.  Of course Sam would say no; he has every right to say it and own it.  He told Sam earlier that he knew none of this makes up for all the crap they’re trying to work through.  But at the end of the day, Dean Winchester is a weak man in the face of his Brother.  He is weak and he is needy and it’s been so long since he has felt whole, that he can’t help himself crave more. He curses himself again and looks down at the floor.

A thumb presses at the corner of his lips and then retreats into Sam’s mouth.  “Must’ve been good.” Sam says with an open grin, his sunflower eyes dancing in the remaining candlelight. And before Dean can fully comprehend what is happening, Sam’s lips are pressed warm and soft against his.  

The action knocks both of them breathless, but ignites the stifled hunger within the both of them.  Within seconds they are on top of the table in a mess of arms and legs and heavy breaths.  The kisses intensify with every second they go on, taking and giving and asking for more--always for more.  

Dean bites his way across Sam’s jaw line and makes it down to his collarbone before rational thought comes back to him.  There’s a half moan hanging from Sam’s lips, Sam’s fingers curled into the fine hairs on the back of Dean’s head, when Dean comes up for air.  He looks down into his Brother’s eyes and sees the clouded look of inner conflict still rumbling strongly under the surface.

Sam’s fingers press into the back of Dean’s head, trying to bring Dean’s mouth back against his skin.  Dean arches his back instead and props himself up and away from his Brother, who lies with his back on the table.

“I want this,” Dean whispers, his eyes darting down to the place he was just kissing.  “But I only want it when I’ve earned it.  Don’t give yourself away, just because you think you want it Sam.  I know there’s nothing but regret ahead of us if we keep going.”

“I miss you,” Sam whispers back, his hand coming up to cradle Dean’s face.  His thumb presses to Dean’s kiss-swollen lips and then he trails his eyes back up to look into his Brother’s.  “But I know that you’re right.”

Dean leans his head against Sam’s touch and commits the sensation to memory, as though he’s stricken with alzheimer's and only has so long to remember. They stay like that, on top of the table, lying against each other, while they both slowly retreat behind their walls and defenses.

It has to be this way, they’re both honest enough to admit it.  Giving in and taking shortcuts would only lead them back to that ugly place they both long to forget.  And if there was a lesson to be learned within all of this, it would be that walking the mile to make it truly right, is the best way to go in the long run.

~*~*~

They’re almost done cleaning the horrible mess they made of the table, when Dean spots the largely untouched pan of cupcakes.  His heart sinks as he looks at them, so full of promise, but not quite measuring up to all those fancy cupcakes Sam always buys.  He picks them up and is halfway to the trashcan before Sam notices.

“What are you doing?”

“Gonna toss these poor excuses for cupcakes,” Dean says with a hint of sarcasm.  

“No,” Sam says protectively.  “You’re not.”

Dean relinquishes the cupcakes into Sam’s hands and can’t help but smile when Sam raises the entire pan and takes a huge bite out of one.  

“Didn’t think you liked em’...”  Dean admits honestly, trying to cover up the grin that wants to stretch across his face.  

Sam chews dramatically and licks at his cupcake and frosting covered mouth.  And then he stops mid-chew and leans in and leaves a messy kiss on Dean’s cheek.

“Don’t be an idiot.”

Dean wipes at his cheek as he laughs,  cleaning the frosting from his fingers with the dish towel over his shoulder.  

“Well, don’t get used to them, because it’s never happening again.”  Dean says as seriously as he can.  Deep down he knows he’ll do anything for Sam, even if it means putting on his Betty Crocker hat every once and awhile.

“Thank you, Dean.” Sam says, the joking tone completely gone from his voice.  “This meant a lot to me.”

Dean knows in that moment, that he made the right choice with this birthday surprise.  It  didn’t bring them to where they need to be, but it’s got them pointed in the right direction.  And for the first time in months, he feels hope--hope that this all can truly be fixed.  He clings to that hope deep inside of himself and offers Sam a small smile.

“You’re welcome.”  

Dean braves the small distance between them and kisses Sam’s cheek innocently.

“Happy Birthday, Sammy.”

 

 

  
 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! 
> 
> I hope our Sammy had a wonderful 31st. :)


End file.
